Unfinished Symphony

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I am walking.

1...2...3...

Headphones in my ears, my eyes are saturated with green. Wherever I go in Vienna, I find a park. I listen to unfinished songs, the words that come out of the notes walk with me. I see statues in the park for some reason it attracts my attention. Not only my attention, but also me rapidly towards himself…

4...5...6...

One moment is all it takes to hold on to life!

I leave myself to the greenery with my book in my hand. Pen in hand, notebook on his knees, looking at me. They say life is all about the paths you take and the choices you choose. For me, it's what you do with what you choose. I set out on this road, came to this park and found myself chatting with a statue. What nonsense, right? “Tell me about Salieri,” I said. I don't like him so much because of his story with Mozart. “Give me reasons to love him,” I said.

He got up, got down, came to me and sat down. No matter how jealous Salieri is to Mozart, no matter what games are said, remember that you have trained musicians like me, does it matter at all, I remained silent. I looked at the sky because I had no answer to give. And I clung to his words to hold on.

Words are also needed sometimes to music, we learned with it. He carefully placed words into beautiful works.

7...8...9...

Poems, he said. They're flipping through the notes. I catch them and imprison them on paper, maybe to bring the notes and poetry together, but I take them and climb the stairs. “Do you like Goethe?” he asked. I said why. Poems, he said. “How well they suit music, they both have their own harmony,” he said. He was right.

 Once again you silently fill the trees and the valley with your misty glow and finally set my soul free and cast your soothing gaze over my fields; You guard my destiny with the kind eye of a friend, my heart feels every echo, both happy and gloomy. I'm torn between joy and sorrow in my solitude.    

 …reads his poem, sung by Goethe to the Moon.

10...11...12...

Someone touches the keys of the piano when he says "I am alone". Ian Bostridge screams this poem in the silence of the park with piano accompaniment, because Schubert took this work and immersed it in the moonlight with his pen. The work is growing. I breathe. My heart is pounding. I knew that he took many such poems and combined them with his music, but this one… I had never heard of it. I hear and go back in time.

I listen to classical music when I am 13…14…15… it feels good while studying. I'm not going anywhere. I'm at my desk and I have to work all the time. There is a marathon ahead of me, I am running with my worries for the future. Shut it down, girl, my mother says, opening my door and coming in. How do you work with music, it's not productive at all, he says. It's not music, it's a masterpiece that opens my mind… I want to say, but before I can say it, my mother turns the music off. I bend my head forward and get lost in questions, it seems too much for me to take a breath in all this work. It's control and pressure… A mother, I say, should liberate her child and I'm halfway done.

16…17…18… My undergraduate education begins, finally, after the age of eighteen, you become a man in this country. It doesn't take long to realize that you were wrong. This time I'm sitting at the same table to work on visas, I turn on the music and the same scenario; my mother is coming. He wants to turn off the music, I let him turn it off, because I have headphones. I put on my headphones, turn up the volume and away from all the sounds of the world. When you can't be free, sometimes you want to escape, but there are shackles on you, you can't get away; For moments like this, music is a very good solution. I am listening.

19...20...21...

Years pass. With the years, I go far away without giving up on myself. I pass through many cities, I wander around other streets of those cities. A different music welcomes me in different houses on each street. I live in that house, time passes. I don't feel dizzy from the time that passes so quickly, but I forget the fact that the world is spinning.

29...30...31...

 And I'm coming to Vienna. I think I'm walking, but it turns out I was running. I see him just as he's about to fall. He climbed thirty-one flights of stairs and finally stopped short of breath. He gave soul to thousands of poems and kept silent. I stand before you at the age and autumn of Schubert's death. I want to ask if thirty-one is too early to die? He cannot answer me, he is a statue. I'm approaching, a hand touches my shoulder just as I'm about to touch it. Wake up, my mother says. Schubert is playing someone in my ear. Suddenly my eyes open. “Are you asleep again?” he asks me. I watched it, but I opened it for you to watch, I say. I'm looking at the screen. The final scene, the piano teacher in his forties, is standing at the entrance of the concert hall facing the door, the most crucial part of the movie. I think it will go away the first time I watch it. It's not going. I sit up straight, I'm thirsty, I reach for the water on the coffee table, I can't hold the glass, it slips from my hand and falls to the ground. Broken. Before I can understand where the knife in his hand came from, I am stinging himself. His shirt is bleeding. At that time, I was trying to collect the pieces of glass on the floor, I stab my hand, my hand is bleeding. With blood flowing, piano teacher in his forties, me watching the movie at home, and his statue in the park, it's like He's liberating and someone playing Schubert. A life is left unfinished. What could he have accomplished at thirty-one?

NOTE: The movie mentioned in the article; The Piano Teacher!

3 Review

  1. You are amazing BAŞAK YILDIRIM. You took me to Vienna, then to the cities where I lived, to the villages. I don't know how many times I went, my childhood, my youth, my maturity, my immaturity. I know we need to run, it's hard to catch up on foot, for dreams, for what we want to live for. Music could have been described so vividly, so bloodily and so spiritually, I think I felt those rhythms and notes in my soul. I know that the spirits of the masters have felt, because it is they that gave birth to their works. I am grateful ?????

  2. What a wonderful person you are, a life story could not be told so deeply. You made me feel my mother's touch on my shoulder while reading. I am glad that our paths crossed with you, may God add success to your success?

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